


Too Close for Comfort

by 13th_Doctor_of_the_Tardis (imperiousheiress)



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Honours Program/Track Team AU, M/M, because that's a thing, that i just made up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperiousheiress/pseuds/13th_Doctor_of_the_Tardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is the new kid still, and he needs to learn his place. Most importantly, he needs to learn that his place is not standing that close to Newt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Close for Comfort

Minho is in a good mood when he walks into the room where he’s supposed to meet Newt about track team stuff. It’s been a relatively good day so far. Some of the loud shanks he’s unfortunate enough to call his friends were, for some reason, operating on levels of energy and volume which were almost akin to that of normal humans today. That meant he hadn’t had to do as much yelling as normal to keep them in line. He thinks it’s probably just been one of those days that everyone can appreciate as one that was made for calmness and serenity, two things Minho can’t get enough of most days. On top of that, he’s decided to forego any responsibilities he may have had for the day in favour of dedicating all of his time to the thing that is always his number one priority: his Newt. He’s been looking forward to this since this morning and is ecstatic to have the chance to spend the rest of the day (and night) with his lovely boyfriend.

All of those good feelings he’s been having vanish completely when he walks into the meeting room.

Newt is sitting there, all messy blond hair and smiles, and, more importantly, with an arm draped around his shoulders, connected to a body leaning against his, which belongs to none other than Thomas. That new shank, who had come into the team suddenly and instantly been treated like he had all the answers.

Newt has his laptop out on the table in front of him and is working on it while Thomas tells whatever story he’s prattling on with, and Newt is laughing. Thomas stands, clinging all over Newt in his chair, and a sharp anger burns in Minho’s chest.

He clears his throat loudly and intentionally, and Newt’s head snaps up. When those brandy coloured eyes find his own, the cute shank’s whole face lights up, and it disarms Minho just a little bit, as his smile always does. But he can still see Thomas’s arm around Newt’s shoulders, despite the fact that he just walked in, and the nagging desire to detach it from the rest of his body remains.

“Minho!” Newt calls excitedly. “You’re here, great!”

“Yeah,” Minho spits in response, fixing his glare on Thomas. “And exactly what the shuck is going on here?”

His eyes flicker to Newt when he sees the boy’s mouth drop and his eyes widen in realisation. He’s trying to shrug Thomas off in a heartbeat.

“Minho,” he warns, “don’t –”

But the track captain is already crossing the room in large, angry strides, making a beeline for Thomas.

“You-!” – and Thomas glances around frantically to confirm that, yes, Minho does indeed mean him – “What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

“I-!”

Thomas puts his hands up in surrender and stumbles backwards until there is nowhere to go but against the wall. Minho is on him in a second, hands fisted in his jacket and giving him a rough shake against it.

“I walk in here and find you with your shuck arm around my shuck boyfriend, waltzing around like you own the place! Who the fuck do you think you are?” He doesn’t shout – not really. His voice takes on almost the equivalent of a growl, full of venom. He thinks though, that Thomas might have been less afraid if he was screaming.

“I-I wasn’t-!” Thomas whimpers.

Minho doesn’t let him finish.

“If you ever want to get nearly that close again without good reason, of which there are nearly none, you’ll shortly find yourself learning how to do things one-handed. Understand?”

Seemingly rendered speechless, Thomas nods desperately and Minho releases him. That seems to give him the ability to form words again.

“I-I’m sorry man!” he manages to stutter out. “I-I had no idea that you were… I didn’t mean anything by it! I’m – I’m totally backing off now! We’re cool! It’s cool…”

“You so much as think about him the wrong way again,” Minho threatens, lowering his voice so that Newt can’t hear from where Minho knows he is still standing a few feet away, watching on worriedly, “and I’ll break your neck, shank.”

Thomas runs from the room, and in that moment, Minho remembers why he made it on the team so quickly.

“Minho,” Newt sighs when he is gone, and the track captain turns around to see his boyfriend flop back down in his chair and cross his arms, frowning at him in irritation. “I’ve told you, you’ve got to be nicer to Tommy! The kid didn’t mean any harm.”

“He was flirting with you!” Minho objects, walking closer to him.

Newt’s face scrunches up in confusion, his nose wrinkling, and that’s absolutely adorable. “What? No…?” he says hesitantly.

“He’s been flirting with you ever since he got here,” Minho deadpans. He watches as the confusion across Newt’s face fades slowly into realisation.

“What?!” he squeaks loudly, face reddening.

“Yep,” Minho says with a solemn nod, successfully keeping his expression serious.

“Minho! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Newt gapes, grabbing his boyfriend’s arms and giving him a little shake.

“Because he was being so damn subtle about it that I thought you wouldn’t notice if I didn’t say anything,” Minho answers sarcastically, unable to keep from rolling his eyes. He lets out a small “oof” when Newt practically throws himself against the slightly shorter boy, burying his face in his tanned neck.

“Dude.”

“I had no idea, or I would’ve told him off, I swear!” Newt says quickly, words muffled by Minho’s (Newt’s) sweatshirt.

Minho grins as he slides his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend’s jeans, making the blond squeak.

“Yeah, sure, shank,” he huffs without malice. “Like you didn’t like the attention.”

“Of course not! And anyways, there’s no need to be jealous – No one could ever compete with you, love,” Newt practically purrs. He nips at the exposed skin of Minho’s neck, sending a shiver up his spine.

“Oh, shuck this meeting. Let’s just go home,” Minho suggests.

Newt’s head pops up instantly and he beams at his boyfriend.

“Oh god yes!”


End file.
